Word Wednesday: Dear FedEx

Dear FedEx,

I was tracking a package online the other day, and as I was glancing down the Detailed Results list (and, as an aside, can I just say that I don't understand how a package can be picked up 25 minutes before its details are transmitted to FedEx?) my eyes caught the following advertisement,



and my eyes reacted with the visual equivalent of the auditory cringing that usually follows the sound of nails scraping down a blackboard.

That is, they melted into a pool of burning acid.

Now, I realize that the skill set necessary for advertising executive types is not the same skill set necessary for novel writers. But, "Find locations even easier"? What the heck does that mean?

See, there are words called adjectives. An adjective is the part of speech that modifies (or, describes) a noun. And, as all of us from our generation know, [we] find it quite in-ter-es-ting, a noun's a person, place, or thing.

Then, there is another set of words which we call adverbs. An adverb is the part of speech that modifies a verb, adjective, or, even, another adverb (how incestuous, I know!).

Yeah, it can be tough, what with both of them starting with "ad". I understand. But here's a clue: adverb ends in VERB.

So, back to your ad:



Easier, my friend, is an adjective. Go on, look it up. So, are you saying that we will find locations that are even easier? What is an easier location? We could spend lots of time discussing what exactly makes an easier location, but it would be a waste of our time, because you know and I know that what you were trying to say was that using your Web interface simplifies the act of searching for a location.

Here's another clue: If you get your thing in action, you're a VERB.

Put those two clues together, and do you know what?

How we find a location necessitates an ADVERB.

How will we find a FedEx location?

More easily.

More easily.

Even more easily.

I understand that sometimes, when done adeptly (adv.), a grammatical "twinge" is just the thing for a successful (adj.) ad campaign.

But this isn't one of those ads. This one is just lazy (adj.).

Get Thee to Bugmenot!

Go on. It's easy. Borrow one of their New York Times logins, because you really must go read this review of the new Newt Gingrich (and William R. Forstchen) novel, Pearl Harbor: A Novel of December 8th:

An Assault on Hawaii. On Grammar Too.

[Y]ou [will] find phrases like “to withdraw backward was impossible,” sounds like “wretching noises” to accompany vomiting, or constructions like “incredulous as it seemed, America had not reacted.” Although the book has two authors, it could have used a third assigned to cleanup patrol.

This is not a matter of isolated typographical errors. It is a serious case for the comma police, since the book’s war on punctuation is almost as heated as the air assaults it describes. “One would have to be dead, very stupid Fuchida thought,” the book says about the fighter pilot Mitsuo Fuchida, “not to realize they were sallying forth to war.” Evidence notwithstanding, the authors do not mean to insult the fighter pilot’s intelligence — or, presumably, the reader’s.

Go read the whole thing!

It's really entertaining. (And I'm not saying this because of Gingrich's political history. Although that makes this all the more delicious!)

Word Wednesday: Mosquito Coast

Have you ever heard of the Mosquito Coast? … Maybe?

It was a movie with Harrison Ford, but I didn’t like it (Han Solo as a crazy self-taught scientist, who can’t even say “nuclear” right, and who bullies his family into moving to the jungle? I think not!).

But it is really a place: It’s on the Atlantic coast of Nicaragua. Most North Americans have never visited there because for such a long time Nicaragua was the US’s Public Enemy 1B (with Cuba as PE 1A). The resultant poverty and international alienation is staggering. But anyway, this isn’t a political post…

Would you want to visit the Mosquito Coast? Not with a name like that, surely. Sounds awful. Guess what? It isn’t the Mosquito Coast because of what you’ll find there. Well, it is, actually, but not because of what you think.* The name is derived from the name of the native people who lived there: they called themselves the Miskito people.

I enjoy etymological (and, also, entomological) mismatches. It’s amazing how many explanations make perfect sense but can still be completely wrong.


*Although, having been to Guatemala’s Atlantic Coast, I can’t imagine it is much different that what the insect’s name implies: hot, muggy, and buggy.

Word Wednesday: Adjectives Are Not Nouns

Welcome to today’s edition of Word Wednesday. I would like to discuss something that has irritated me for a long time. Ahem.

It isn’t botique (“bow-teek”), it is boutique (“boo-teek”). If that’s too difficult for you to say, then, please—for the love of all things mellifluous—just call it a shop.

Heckler: Hey! That’s pronunciation, not language use!

What? No. It’s a mis-use of language….

Heckler: This isn’t an appropriate use of the “Word Wednesday” label! I want my money back!

I assure you, if you do a quick online search for botique, you’d be shocked at how many links come up…

Heckler: Excuses, excuses! What kind of a scam are you running here, anyway?

Now, listen, you—

Heckler: Re-do! Re-do! Re-do!

Oh, all right, then! I’ll find something else here in this sheaf of notes …*shuffle shuffle* … Aha! OK, you rude person, here’s something that’s being misused more and more lately:

“Have you been to Saudi?”
“When I lived in Saudi, we used to …”
“The meeting between Palestinian factions began this morning in Saudi…”

People, can we please go back to calling it “Saudi Arabia”? I mean, it’s only five syllables, the same number as in “The USSR”, and we used to say that all the time. Five syllables is not so much. Think of how lucky we are that nothing newsworthy happens in Equatorial Guinea!

Saudi is an adjective. From the name Muhammad bin Saud, the man who began it all back in 1744. (And aren’t we lucky that in 1902, Abdul Aziz Ibn Saud re-captured Riyadh, the Al-Saud dynasty's ancestral capital, from the rival Al-Rashid family. Otherwise we would have been very tongue-tied saying Al-Rashid’s Saudi Arabia [sort of like Ruth’s Chris Steak House].)

You don’t go visit an adjective. You don’t live in an adjective. And peace meetings are not held in an adjective. They’re held in a place. Saudi Arabia. Say it. Saudi Arabia. Type it. It’s a good mouth workout (and typing workout). Don’t short-shrift your speaking/typing skills. Saudi Arabia. Our language shouldn’t always reduce to a common denominator. Saudi Arabia. Words need to make sense.

And Saudi (n.) doesn’t.

(Not-so-random segue: To the person in Riyadh at server address 212.24.224.# (Gulfnet KSA ZAJIL) who got to my blog yesterday via a technorati search for "trixie teen" +"amateur softcore": I may not know what the precise Wahhabi punishment for onanism is, but I'm guessing it's pretty nasty. But that's nothing compared to what I would do to your sorry ass if you come back here again. Understood?)

Word Wednesday: Learning to Spell

I’ve always enjoyed watching children process the concept of spelling. Seeing how children absorb the many rules and exceptions involved in orthography and how they incorporate that into a composition is fascinating. So today I thought I’d share with you something I received in the mail a few days ago from my nephew The Hobbit, who has graced this blog with his presence before (note: you can click on any picture to see a larger version):


“My Favorite Book About Insects
By The Hobbit”

Look! The Hobbit does the same thing Trixie did for years: he writes from left to right, but composes a book from back to front. I love it!

Now, my camera is a point and shoot, so you may not have noticed the dedication on the cover, so allow me to zoom in and show you:

Betcha didn’t know my real name was Fritec, didja? I consider this a valiant effort by a 5-year-old to capture a very long, very difficult name. It’s close enough to “friuduric” that it works for my offline as well as my online monniker.

Now, let’s open the book and see what we learn about insects in this wonderful book:


“Caterpillars can turn into butterflies, but it has to find a leaf”

That is very true!

“But if they don’t find a leaf on time, they will die!”

And that ending is probably why this book happens to be the favorite book about insects, I think. (I scoff when people say little ones are too sensitive for discussions of death. Kids thrive on it!)

This has got to be the best book I’ve received in the mail in a very long while (and it's not even science fiction/fantasy!). Thank you, Three of Four, for mailing the Hobbit’s first published text to me. We all give it five stars.

Word Wednesday: Shades of Meaning

This morning I spent more minutes than I should have worrying about today’s post. Because it is Wednesday, you know. And what would be the use of resuscitating Word Wednesdays if I can only last two weeks? Sure, I should only post word-themed posts if I have something to talk about, and it shouldn’t become a chore, but really, only two weeks in a row? If that’s all I can do, then that’s pretty pitiful. But then, while making my second monster mug of tea, I was distracted from my self-criticism by the intro to a local public radio program. Today’s guest was someone from Temple University, an anti-Holocaust scholar.

It just blew me away when I first heard the ad for this particular show a few days ago. In fact, I shouted at the radio in the car for a moment or two. I couldn’t believe that here in mild-mannered, polite Iowa, our public radio station was going to dedicate most of a show to an anti-Holocaust scholar. We aren’t Missouri, south of us, which has a tendency to swing conservative; we aren’t Kansas, southwest of us, home of Fred Phelps (as an aside, I’ve been proud of local Iowans who have made it abundantly clear to Phelps and his bully gang that they aren’t welcome here when they’ve come to disrupt Des Moines graduation ceremonies or military funerals with their message of hate), so why on earth are we interviewing an anti-Holocaust scholar on public radio? And why was this person invited to speak during the University of Northern Iowa’s Holocaust Remembrance and Education Program? Have we gone insane? Why should we give a platform to one of those deluded academics and neo-cons (I prefer to call them “whackos”) who deny the Holocaust? For the love of all gods great and small, Why?!

I tuned back in to what the announcer was saying. “Dr. Weiman is director of Temple’s Institute for Interreligious, Intercultural Dialogue. Her work focuses on informing and preventing the repetition of similar Holocaust situations world-wide. Weiman describes herself as an ‘Anti-Holocaust scholar.’”

Oh. That kind of anti. Not Merriam-Webster’s definition 2a (“opposing or hostile to in opinion, sympathy, or practice : anti-Semite”), but definition 4 (“combating or defending against : antiaircraft, anti-missile*”).

I always like to spout the truism that English has many more words than other languages, thus that in English you can better distinguish between shades of meaning. Well, I think we need at least one more prefix. Just to prevent misunderstanding. Don’t you agree?

And also? Dr, Weiman? Maybe you should self-style yourself something else. Just a thought. But, thanks! I now have a perfectly good Word Wednesday post.


* Does it bother no one else that the one has a hyphen and the other doesn't? I wonder if this is a typo in the dictionary? Heaven forbid!

Word Wednesday: An Un-Effective Cop-out

I've complained before about using the word impact as a verb. Last night, the Consort mentioned a conversation he had had yesterday with a student. It seems that some people use impact as a verb because they can't figure out whether to use affect or effect, so they bypass the whole conundrum and use the icky, verbed impact, instead.

My response? No excuse. All that's required is a Web search (you know, the thing some college students do to find paragraphs to lift to "jazz up" their papers). You get a bucketful of results, many of them from university writing labs. Yes, some can be on the dull side (scroll down a bit to find it), but others are highly entertaining (or is that just me?).

Ignoring a problem doesn't make it go away. At least, not until all the people like me are dead. (Even then, I will probably haunt the dreams of sloppy writers [considering there's no way I will have been good enough to get into anyone's heaven*].)



*Case in point: The three previous posts all use the word damn. Now, that's excessive, if you ask me.

Word Wednesday: Superfluous adjectives

Last week I found myself cranky for a while. I had to send a sympathy card. The crankiness was threefold.

First, I felt that I was ordered to do so. Even at the age of 39, I can still be bullied by my mother. And it constantly amazes me that a person who is so diplomatically adept when it comes to other people can choose the perfectly wrong way to phrase something when it comes to her own daughter. At heart, I am stuck at 13 years old. I acknowledge it.

Second, I had to do it in French, and I always worry when I have to compose anything in French. We spoke it at home when I was growing up, but taking French at school would have been considered an “easy A”, so I took Spanish instead. This means that I know much more about Spanish grammar and orthography than about the mass of French language rules.

Second-and-a-half (shush, this is my blog post, I’ll number it however I please), I am a perfectionist, and I would hate for there to be a spelling or grammar mistake in a letter. Plus, being an editor is my job (albeit in English, not French), so I would just die if I sent something out with a mistake. (Blog posts don’t count. They’re spur of the moment writing, and would be boring if they were perfect.)

Second-and-three-quarters, I don’t like to send generic letters of condolence. I feel that in this type of correspondence, you need to take the time to make the person you are writing about real. This usually means incorporating a shared memory with the recipient. I had met the woman who died twice in my life. (Well, maybe more when I was a baby and living in Belgium, but I don’t remember those times.) This was a family relationship that was practically nonexistent during most of my growing up years (just from busy-ness and living on separate continents), but in the past ten years or so (while I was living my grown-up life, separate from my parents, of course), my mother has rekindled a close relationship with her aunt and her cousins.

Third. The superfluous adjective part. I received an email, reminding me (and my sibs) that in French, the phrase is, “Nos plus sinceres condoleances” (with some accents that I won’t put in because I’m sure Blogger will munge them. Yes, I do know which ones they are, and where they go!). Translated, “our most sincere condolences.” My trip to the local card shop confirmed that this phrase is used in English as well. To which I say: Pshaw! (I put that in just for z, who enjoyed it when I used that word the other day.)

Why do we need the “sincere”? Shouldn’t you just assume that any (or, at least, the vast majority) of condolences you receive are sincere? What kind of boobs are we that cards have to reassure the recipient that—no, this isn’t a joke, we really feel bad for your loss, and wish we could give you a hug, but in our culture today, strangers coming up and giving you a hug might freak you a just a bit, so instead, here’s this card, made from a dead tree, and printed with inks that may or may not poison the waters near the factory, creating dead water plants and dead fishes, just to tell you we feel for you, really; truly; no, for real, Herb’s not in the back chuckling. We ARE sorry. We sympathize. We may even empathize, but we’re not sure we’re totally clear on what the difference is...

I searched. The definition of condolence is, “An expression or declaration of sympathy with a person who has experienced pain, grief, or misfortune.” I dug deeper and checked out sympathy, too, in case there was an implication of inveracity to either word. There isn’t. Why burden a perfectly good word with a hanger-on adjective that only serves to cast aspersions on the strength and character of that good word?

So I, being the rebel that I am, sent condolences to the family. I also told them I thought their mom was a cool lady, who was independent (she still mowed her own lawn at the ripe old age of 91) and always had a positive outlook on things. I told them her energy and vivaciousness is something I hope to be able to live up to in my own life. Sincerely.

Word Wednesday: The Power of Language

As I believe I’ve mentioned, we’re part of a food ordering co-op. This is the largest organic food distributor in the US. It used to be an independent called Blooming Prairie, now it’s UNFI (that’s another story), and it provides food for places like Hy-Vee stores and Sam’s Club (yuck). But at least that means that the driver would be coming this way anyway, so our orders aren’t really creating more food transportation fuel use. Because, you know what they say, it’s better to get your food locally than organically. (I believe the rule of thumb is, if it comes from farther than 20 miles from your home, go local rather than organic; but for the life of me, I can’t find that anywhere right now. You can have a look at The Sustainable Table if you’re motivated. Then come back and give me the link, OK?)

With the bulk discount and our chest freezer in the basement, we can load up on organic frozen vegetables. Last week, I took out a bag of frozen spinach (we got it in the spring, don’t worry: no E. coli in our spinach) and, as usual, smiled as I took out the lovely package:


Ah, Woodstock Farms, how snazzy your package looks. And, take a closer look, they have their business philosophy right there on the front of the package:

How true: “A worthy vision and a necessary endeavor”. I applaud your endeavor, Woodstock Farms!

Who are Woodstock Farms, you ask? Well, if we turn the package over, we can let them speak for themselves:

Clearly, they are the Heart and Soul of the commitment to Mother Earth. (Are you hearing the angels sing, too?) I get a buzz out of supporting good business. So I’m happy that this beautiful bag of frozen USDA organic spinach is on my countertop at this moment. A moment which provides an oasis of goodness in a world filled with greedy Ken Lays and ruthless Jeff Skillings, with mega-farms and poor business practices (now you’ve got to be hearing the angels, am I right?). I am a curious sort of person, and so my eye continues down the package. Where, below the evocative description of Woodstock Farms, there is a bit more information.

Cue the tire screech and the scratch of a needle across a vinyl record album, please. Freeze the angelic harmonies. Now, move in to the close-up of the text:

Product of fricking CHINA?!!!

The entire package is one big trick. They are honey-tongued devils, those Woodstock *spit* distributor people. Caveat emptor, indeed.

PS: Bonus points to the first person to identify the creative touch I’ve added to this post. And I mention this because, being an insecure person, I worry that if I don’t mention it, no one will notice it.

Word Wednesday: The Moral of the Story

“Hey Joe, Have you got a minute? I’ve been looking at our budget, and I think I’ve found a way to save us some wasted bucks.”
“Oh, yeah? What’ve you found, Bob?”
“Well, see this figure here?”
“Yeah.”
“That, Joe, is how much we pay the guy who we hired to proofread the docs for us.”
“Holy cow! That guy sure charges a hefty fee!”
“That’s what I thought. And then I got to thinking. We’re all educated folks in this office …”
“Right.”
“… And our word processing software comes with a spell check function. So really, hiring out for ‘proofreading’ isn’t necessary…”
“Genius, Bob! Get right on it. You know, the taxpayers will thank you for saving them so much money. That kind of initiative will help you go far, buddy-boy.”
“Thanks, Joe.”

Typo Will Cost Michigan County $40,000
(10/10/06 - GRAND HAVEN, MI) - Ottawa County will pay about $40,000 to correct an embarrassing typo on its Nov. 7 election ballot: The "L" was left out of "public."

Five or six people in [the county Clerk's] office had proofread the ballot, but it was an election clerk who found the mistake early last week.

(I am not making this up.)

Word Wednesday: The Importance of Spaces

From Impera's Middle School:

REMINDER: The Book Swap is Next Week

*Be sure to turn your books into your Language Arts/Reading teachers as soon as possible!

Sigh. 'Nuf said.

Word Wednesday: Why Would I Want That?

There is a sign at the counter of my local Walgreens pharmacy. It has been bugging me and bugging me for a few months now. It says:

We Sell Diabetic Shoes
Ask Us About Them
This Purchase Might Be Right For You

And I can’t help but wonder: Why?

Who would want to buy footwear that has a chronic disease? I have a thing about feet (I’ll have to blog about that at some point), so I certainly wouldn’t want special needs shoes—I can barely stand taking care of my perfectly healthy feet. Yuck!

And what kind of special care would they require? When you’re diabetic, you have to regulate you sugar intake, right? So, would my diabetic shoes need me to regulate their sweat (which follows one set of pronounciation rules to sound “sweet”) intake? Gross!—Don’t even think about that!!!

And would my diabetic shoes need diabetic socks? (I’m pretty sure I saw an infomercial about them at some point.) And would the tingling that affects 60% of diabetics affect the shoes? (More importantly, would the tingling transfer to my feet while I was wearing the shoes?)

And how would I know if the shoes were getting worse, or if they were stable? And if they were getting worse, how much would it cost me for the inevitable amputation? And then, would I be required to wear shoes that are missing the front third, with my toes wiggling out there for all to see? Or could I "retire" them at this point? (Dare I say, shoe euthanasia [I mean, are shoes considered on the same level as humans?])

This is what happens when a meaningless sign is put up in a public place.

Word Wednesday: Why the Dictionary is Fun to Read

If you hang around in word-obsessive circles (for example, associations of copyeditors) long enough, someone is bound to bring up the whole "hopefully" issue. You see, we all agree that "hopefully", as its parts imply, means "in a hopeful manner". So, "'May we have another bit of bread?' the urchin asked, hopefully" is correct, whereas it would be blasphemous to speak "Hopefully we'll get there before the concert starts!"

Notice a difference? No? Well, then, you just aren't paying attention. It's there, alright.

But this is one battle for which I've never felt much passion. At times I would attempt to remove "hopefully" from my conversational options, but it was always half-hearted and not worth much energy.

And perhaps because of said affiliation with wordy types, I find the following incredibly humorous. To you this usage note (found in Merriam-Webster's Collegiate Dictionary, 11th edition) may sound extremely restrained. To me, well, imagine as you read this a small pale man in a bow tie, his shirt sleeves rolled up, his ink-stained fingers continuously pushing his sliding spectacles up the bridge of his nose.

usage: In the 1960s the second sense of hopefully [it is hoped: I hope: we hope { ~ the rain will end soon}], which dates to the early 18th century and had been in fairly widespread use since the 1930s, underwent a surge in popularity. A surge of criticism followed in reaction, but the criticism took no account of the grammar of adverbs. Hopefully in its second sense is a member of a class of adverbs known as disjuncts. Disjuncts serve as a means by which the author or speaker can comment directly to the reader or hearer usu. on the content of the sentence to which they are attached. Many other adverbs (as interestingly, frankly, clearly, luckily, unfortunately) are similarly used: most are so ordinary as to excite no comment or interest whatsoever. The second sense of hopefully is entirely standard.

Word up, brother! Punch that fist in the air! Stand up for the Common Man! Don't let those self-important Guardians of Language get away with it!

Sorry. Maybe it isn't so funny to you. But really, the dictionary is a fun read. Try it.

Word Wednesday: Brought to you by the Letters I, N, and T

When I told Cecil that I had a blog, and I did a themed Wednesday post every week, he said "You have got to blog about this!" So, this being Spring Break and all (i.e. a lazy week), I bring you Cecil's "this":

dint
mint
hint
lint
tint
pint

....pint? Pint?

What's up with that?

Follow-up: It seems that now verbing nouns is out, and adjectiving them is in:

"Everybody knew that this program was very impactful for kids, that it was a great supplement to what teachers were doing." Entire article here.

Word Wednesday: Misplaced Food

Lest you begin to think that Word Wednesdays = Excuse to Complain, today I just mention something I’ve noted. It seems that people around the world feel that food terms need to be “placed”, and often, they are placed incorrectly.

For example, French fries. In French, they are just frites [fries]. And in actuality, the Belgians are much more famous for their fries than the French. Every little village had at least one Friture, where you could go pick up fresh, hot, just-fried-in-beef-fat, fries. (The French enjoyed making the Belgians squirm in the 1980s when they would often drop in conversation that friture was the fat used in making fries, and that friterie was the actual term for the place one went to purchase frites. The Belgians huffed, they puffed out their cheeks, stated to everyone around them that the French were insufferable snobs, … and a few years later all the shops names were changed to Friterie.)

Another example: Belgian waffles. Really, we understand where the confusion has come in. Because, again, the Belgians are renowned for their waffles. For instance, there are gaufres de Bruxelles ("Brussels waffles", what in the U.S. is meant by Belgian waffles)—puffy, large-holed, crispy batter treats. But in Belgium, you have it as a gouter [afternoon snack], with powdered sugar, whipped cream, and fruit. But when one purchases a waffle iron in Belgium, you get a variety of plates, so you can also make thinner, small-holed cookie-type gaufres. And in Liège, during the October Fair, you can buy Lackmans, which are two of the thin waffles, sandwiching a thick sticky apple goo (called sirop de Liège [syrup of Liège]). Mmm, mmm, good.

And let’s not forget French dressing and Russian dressing. Neither of those countries would take ownership of these two mayonnaise-based sauces. But that’s OK. The French speakers of the world have gotten even with the U.S. by calling raw chopped beef combined with (raw) egg, (again, raw) onion, and capers Filet Americain. And I have never met an American who would willingly eat the stuff. Even before mad cow disease.

And just so you didn’t think I was being eurocentric, let me mention to you that if you went to China and asked for “General Tso’s Chicken”, which is a staple in all Chinese restaurants in the U.S., the people would look at you with a blank look on their face. It seems that General Tso was a 19th century warrior, particularly apt at crushing Muslim rebels. And that the dish we in the U.S. relish is not really worthy of a war general. Maybe his peasant foot soldiers ate it, but surely not him.

So where does this all leave us? Nowhere in particular. I just thought is was interesting. And it reminded me that I should ask my mother to bring me back some sirop de Liège sometime soon!

Word Wednesday: Why Shit but not F***

Five years ago:

Impera (singing): Chuck, chuck, bo-buck, banana fana fo-f-(oooooh!)
(pregnant pause)
Consort: Why did you stop singing?
Impera: Because that next word was a BAD word.
Consort: How did you know that was a bad word?
Impera: Because Mommy uses it, and I don’t know what it means. If Mommy uses a word that I don’t know, usually that means that it’s a BAD word.

Now, I know enough about the Internet that I understand that much of the volume of Web searches is of a sexual nature. I would prefer that teenage boys, lonely men, unimaginative men, etc., stay off my site. Considering that the post in which I used both these words also had the word “rape” in it, I may already get some weird searches. If someone reading this was directed here by a Google search of this kind, Get off my site now, you deranged ^ sicko ^ male ^ pervert! (Note: ^ = spit).

But beyond that particular post, because honestly I didn’t think twice (twees?) when I wrote out the one and euphemized the second, I consider bad language to be on a sliding scale from the slightly vulgar to the incredibly obscene. In this day and age, shit is slightly vulgar, but nothing more. I know how to control myself (despite what my spouse and children think) (and most of my lapses have to do with the idiocy of our current political leaders), and I don’t think I’ve used f*** (uneuphemized) with friends. Family, yes (but isn’t that the joy of sisters getting together?).

And audience counts for a lot. Consider for a moment this incident about two years ago. Impera was upset with me because that morning, on the drive to school, she said I used a bad word in describing an inept driver, IN FRONT OF OUR CARPOOL PARTNER. I became worried. I remembered the driver in question, but I couldn’t remember what I had said. “Shit!” I thought, “what did I say??!” It turned out I had called the driver (now, get ready, and promise me you won’t think any less of me) “stupid”. Phew! It took incredible strength of will on my part to not start laughing. That’s not at all what I expected.

Another example: The word “bloody”. It is my understanding that in the UK one wouldn’t accept polite children or business underlings saying that word to their betters (is that still true?). Here in the States, when one says “bloody”, it is said with no freight whatsoever, in fact, it’s pretty much a joke. (But any Brits reading this, don’t worry, when you come over here and pat our cat and say “what a sweet pussy”, some of us have to put our fingers to our eyelids to keep the eyeballs from popping out.)

I won’t provide you with a list of words from vulgar to obscene. On this site I think I’ve used shit, hell, and the euphemisms frack, frick, f***, and mother. Oh, I may also have use the word “ass”. But I will tell you that I will refuse to talk to anyone who uses the T word or the C word. Abso-frickin-lutely.

This post isn’t as tight as I’d like, but it’s all you’re going to get (Hah. Just imagine what the word “tight” is going to do to the weird Google searches [Scram you obsessed loserly losers!]). I’d be interested to hear what others think of the gradation, or lack thereof, of strong language. Thoughts anyone?

Word Wednesday: Verbing Nouns

Let me start out by saying, yes, I know that this isn’t a new phenomenon*. In fact, some verbing is necessary. For example, what am I doing right now? I am blogging (v.)—that is, writing and sharing on my blog (n.)—my Web (adj., n.) log (n.). And so on and so forth, into the depths of time. When the first word was a gruff … “Mine!” (followed by a thwack! as the Neanderthal emphasized his ownership of the last haunch of semi-roasted meat).

But really, with a language as replete with words as the English language, do we need to destroy any last vestiges of everyday poetry by using wretched verbed nouns?

Do we need to “dialogue” with our children about talking to strangers on the street?

Is “gifting” someone a book on Amazon the best we can do?

When we have a problem with a co-worker, can we do no better than “interfacing” with them to solve it?

Can we really be so disappointed that Bode Miller didn’t “medal” at all in Torino?

And, my least favorite: Must I really know that the current unrest in the Middle East continues to “impact” fuel prices around the world? (It is my least favorite because, to me, using impact in this way conveys the essence of constipation, discomfort, and cramps…blech.)

So please, let’s talk with our children, purchase gifts for our loved ones, resolve misunderstandings with our colleagues, move beyond Bode’s disappointing Olympic results (because there's always another competition around the bend), and contemplate the effects of civil unrest on our nasty drug habit: oil addiction.

Because language isn’t a business plan.

Because action words should have charisma.

Because I don’t like being reminded of constipation.

*I really should start all my Wednesdays with this asterisk representing the disclaimer, so that I don’t have to say it every time.

Word Wednesday: Marketing

I was planning to blog about how it seems that once neuroscientists get their PhDs, they have to relinquish their abilities to read simple directions (I would have said all science PhDs, but then the Consort would have taken umbrage), but that will have to wait. Because my business domain name needs to be renewed soon, and in my Inbox yesterday, I got this:

Let's dissect this puppy, as the Consort would say.

First, the highlighting. Usually, highlighting emphasizes the best deal (especially when the text in green, right before the green highlighting arrow/bar combination, actually says "best savings."

Is it really the best savings? No. I only save 42% if I renew for five years. I could save 57% if I went with nine years, so they are lying. (Because in my math, 57, being a larger number than 42, means that that provides a better savings. How does it work out in your math?).

--But wait! Holy mackerel! Do you see what I see? If I renew for one hundred years, I can save 70% -- yes seventy percent! Oh my gee (as my younger daughter would say), what am I waiting for?

Well, let's see. If, in 1850, I was offered a chance at investing in horse-drawn carriages, and could purchase 100 years of ownership at 70% savings, then in 50 years I would be very, very, sad.

Let's think back, not that far. Let's think back 15 years. Did you know some people actually used Word*Star as their word processing software? Never heard of it? That's because you are a whipper-snapper (one of the rights of turning 38 is that you can start calling people whipper-snappers).

Even if we are generous and allow that domain name registration stays stable for twice that amount of time (30 years, if you weren't paying attention), I will probably be out about 500 dollars. (And where do I go having $999 to spare now, anyway?)

So, what kind of idiot puts together this kind of marketing table?

The kind that won't be getting my renewal. I'm switching to aplus.net.

Word Wednesday: Teachers Who Don't Proofread

I think I freaked out some people with my post yesterday. But golly, I can’t always be the hostess with the mostess! So for Word Wednesday, I offer you the following, reproduced verbatim [my comments are in square brackets]:

***

Dear parent/Guardian [oh, so biological parents aren’t as important as court-appointed adults, eh? You fosterist!]:

I would like to take this opportunity to introduce myself. My name is Student Teacher; the students may call e Mrs. Teacher [How do you know e? And are you sure she wants to be known as Mrs. Teacher? I know she prefers Ms. Purple Pen!]. I am a student teacher from Local Barely Accredited Pseudo-College teaching in Mrs., [actually, I thought Local Barely Accredited Pseudo-College was within the city limits] Normal-Teacher’s room […yes?]. I began at C— Middle School on Jan. 3rd and to date I have given all students one typing project that was due on January 13, 2006. My policy is to allow students to make corrections and resubmit their assignment for a higher grade. I firmly believe that students learn from their mistakes [So, when will you be resubmitting this letter for a higher grade? Right now, you’re getting a “D”].

…

Thank you for allowing me to work with your children. [I don’t remember approving you -- show me the paperwork]

[Some teachers don't get any respect. But when 6th graders can find all your typing mistakes, well, you've got to *earn* yourself some respect.]

Word Wednesday: Language Hijackings

Anybody in the US back then: Remember the early 1980s? When you could stuff your LaChoy crispy noodles (“LaChoy makes Chinese food that [rat-a-tat-tat] swings American!” — ay ay ay, those heady 1970s; thank god I was too young to be responsible for them; but the LaChoy isn’t really important here, stay focused!) into your Le Bag, get into your Le Car, and zip off home for dinner, hoping for the day someone would “discover” quiche so you’d have something really tasty for dinner? And then you wouldn’t have to add “Le” in front of everything anymore to make it cool?

Well, I have just observed the mid-oughts new euro-cool catch-phrase (really, “catch-word”, but anyway): Boo-coo.

I first heard it a couple weeks ago by a woman in her late 50s. Born and bred Midwesterner. Very snazzy in her purple flats to go with her purple pants to go with her purple appliqued sweater, with her mega-body chin-length silver hair framing her face and shiny silver jewelry around her throat. She was talking about a young therapist dealing with a difficult psychological case, and to make her point mentioned that the young therapist in question found herself feeling boo-coo stress trying to make this case work out.

I let it go. I pretended to know what she was saying. (I don’t like to look a fool.) Later, in the car, I realized what she said. “Oh! She meant—” But then I was distracted by a driver, cell phone at ear, trying to make a left turn across my lane, so I was distracted and moved on to other thoughts.

On Saturday night, the two Imperatrixes-in-Training were at their first night “party”, 5 pm until 10 pm, so the Consort and I went out to dinner with a couple we know. Being the liberals we are (all 4 of us), the conversation got to state politics, and one of them, who works for the Natural Resources section of the state government, mentioned that all those out-of-state “consultants” this state is fond of using costs us all boo-coo bucks.

One is weird. Two is a trend. Why boo-coo? It sounds stupid. English has more words than any other language (so I’ve heard). That’s great, but I really don’t want to have to experience first-hand the word-swiping that keeps the language vibrant, especially when the word in question is said “boo-coo”. Yes, in fifty years it will be a part of the English language: used in newspapers and speeches, found in Merriam Webster’s 18th edition. But I tell you now, I will cringe every time I hear it. I will be boo-coo irked. Every time.